


Pancakes

by Ladycat



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander stopped ‘scratching’. Lifting his head with a wicked enough grin to strike fear in the hearts of besotted vampires everywhere, Xander whispered, “Because then I get to do this.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pancakes

Pancakes when Dawn made them had a very distinctive smell—actual pancakes, plus whatever other ingredients she decided to put into the batter. It made for interesting wake-ups, particularly for the vampire. Burning teflon was disgusting and, unfortunately, familiar.

Spike thought he smelled something woody and nutty, but the acrid sting of _burnt_ made it hard to discern. He hoped like hell it was just walnuts and not something worse. He was usually stuck with the cleanup, since vampiric elbow-grease trumped mortal, and nuts always glued themselves to the pan when Dawn used them.

Dawn sang as she cooked. The Romanian lullaby, lilting and clear, should’ve sounded wrong coming from the mouth of a thoroughly American twenty-something—but it never did. Dawn’s voice was too high for the song, but the strength of her retelling always made Spike forget to wince. He frequently teased her about her fuzzy, furry voice, but she knew he meant it even as she frowned and swiped at him: her voice was the crackling fire, the down comforter, and the simmering feeling of home.

The covers began to twist and shift, the bed shaking in a minor earthquake, and Spike smiled down at the head now pillowed on his stomach. “Morning.”

“Mm. Morning. Why’d we say it was a good idea for Dawn to live with us again?” Xander’s eyes were half-closed with sleep, his stubble comfortingly prickly against naked skin. He hummed when Spike finger-combed messy tangles back from his eyes, smiling slightly. “I kinda miss late mornings.”

Spike pointedly glanced over at the clock, intending to point out that half past ten wasn’t exactly early—but Xander started soothing an itch by rubbing his cheek back and forth on Spike’s belly, and the scritch-scrape of bristles against him, warm skin just barely felt underneath, had Spike moaning and arching into the contact.

Something Xander knew, damn him, and was probably doing on purpose. “Stop looking at the clock, Spike,” Xander said, still absently scratching. “It’s before noon, therefore early. And when did the nocturnal vampire become the guy who gets up at Dawn, most days?”

“When the vampire turned White Hat, got himself a soul, a human lover, and a job that involves a lot of communication with blokes several time-zones away,” Spike shot back, grinning slightly to try and prevent a second moan from escaping.

Xander’s hand joined the party, dragging the backs of his nails over one nipple, then the other. “You could just stay up late and deal with the Giles Mark Two crowd _then_ , you know.” It wasn’t the first time he’d pointed that out and wouldn’t be the last. It also wasn’t exactly a pressing issue, the way Xander’s eye glinted liquid amber. “’Cause I like my lazy mornings.”

Those few touches, so practiced as to be habit, still had Spike lightly panting and trying not to squirm. “Yeah? An’ why’s that?”

Xander stopped ‘scratching’. Lifting his head with a wicked enough grin to strike fear in the hearts of besotted vampires everywhere, Xander whispered, “Because then I get to do this.”

It wasn’t hard, or rough. There was a distinct lack of the kink they usually were partial to, and even urgency and the bodies demands seemed muted. This was _hello_ , and _I miss you_ , and _I love the way you moan when I use my tongue like that, and the way you pull on my hair without ever once hurting me_. This was the kind of slow, lazy morning Spike had never once had in a hundred years of existence before Xander, and hadn’t known he craved until he was face down with Xander’s weight covering him with a lion’s strength, his heat slipping inside while Xander whispered words that were both mundane and obscene and loving all at once.

They’d just regained their breath—well, Xander, anyway—when Spike noticed that the scent of burning had faded and someone was knocking on their door. “Hey, guys. Are you done with the morning nookie?”

Turning red wasn’t an option, so Spike dragged the blankets up over both of them and buried his face into Xander’s jaw. Xander chuckled and stroked his hair. “Baby,” he muttered. “ _You’re_ the adopto-dad, you tell her to buzz off.”

Dawn’s giggle was quiet. “Cool, the cuddly part. Come on out in twenty minutes, okay? I’ve got breakfast waiting.”

“What kind?” His words were muffled by Xander’s jaw—and Xander’s wince—but he knew Dawn would hear them. “The pancakes?”

“Plain, silly. I did shapes, but I’m not telling you what kind.”

Without actually removing his mouth from Xander’s jaw, Spike still managed to meet that single dark eye, his own worry reflected right back. “Dawn?” Xander asked slowly. “Um. What burned?”

“Those were _my_ pancakes. I wasn’t actually going to feed you pastachio-marmalade pancakes, Xander, really!”


End file.
